To Watch Over, To Guard
by MissMandS
Summary: It was not a dragon that took Erebor but skinchangers, feral in their behavior and their actions. They chased the dwarves from the mountain and the people from Dale, claiming Erebor as their. After years of famine and illness there are only a few left and they still hold claim over Erebor until the company of Thorin Oakenshield enters the mountain. Poly relationships
1. Chapter 1

Bilbo wakes up aware of two things. Beorn is gone from his spot, leaving the bed much too cold and their pile empty. And there is an unfamiliar scent in the air. Bilbo sniffs the air, grimacing and looking towards the others. Aragorn is already awake, sitting up and sniffing the air. There's a look of clear disgust on his face as he looks from Bilbo to the doorway leading from their room. Primula and Bard are still asleep, the children piled on top of one another and snoring.

"Beorn left early this morning for food." Aragorn says quietly, motioning for Bilbo to follow after him. With a shake and a groan Bilbo stands and follows after, tiptoeing into the hallway. The sight of the lanterns lining the hallway nearly makes him laugh. Beorn put them there, of course despite their constant reassurances they could see perfectly fine in the dark. If Bilbo is perfectly honest he preferred that the lanterns not be lit, the smell of oil clung to the air and assaulted his oversensitive nose. And with winter approaching they didn't dare keep any windows open.

"That means they would have had to enter through a door. We did not leave one unlocked did we?" Bilbo asks.

"I did border patrol last night, no unusual scents. If there is something then I suspect that they've fled already." Aragorn says as they come to the end of the hallway, each of them taking a deep inhale. The scent is not as strong but still they let out low, warning growls. They wait for something to scamper out from the shadows but nothing moves, no bugs, no spiders, and no mice so they take tentative steps into the room.

The scent is not one of rabbit, mice, hay or even the rare scent of a deer. It's unusual; sharp, musky and somewhat tart. Not unpleasant but not welcome either. It smells like far too much hair and fur, too many layers soaking with lake water in need of drying and blood that has been caked and crusted on. Each step introduces a new part of the scent and has Bilbo's nerves rubbing more and more, his hackles raising until he's crouching on the ground. His teeth are bared as he looks towards Aragorn. He can hear the sounds of Primula waking up now, shifting and sniffling. It will only be a few moments and then she will be making her way down the hallway.

"Go back to Prim, keep her there. Protect her and the kids." Bilbo orders Aragorn. He lets out a growl as the man kneels down, covering his body with his. He lingers there for a moment, pressing a kiss to Bilbo's pointed ear before he bites down. Then he is walking back down the hallway. Bilbo's toes curl at the reassurance and he moves through the room, listening and waiting.

There are multiple scents, similar in their qualities but different. There are females in this group, unbonded. And males, varying in age and strength. From the scents, only two of them are truly bonded, the others are not. And two of them are talking, their voices rising with anger.

"For goodness sake Thorin Oakenshield, I am trying to save your life. For once, I am begging you to listen to me. If we do not leave now then this mountain will claim not only your life but the life of your kin." An old man thunders.

"This mountain is mine wizard. It belongs to my kin, to the dwarves. It is ours." Fury swells in Bilbo's chest at these words. This mountain, these halls, they are his. Bilbo leaps forward with a snarl, nails extended. There are shouts and weapons drawn but he doesn't notice as he leaps for the dark haired one trying to claim ownership over his mountain. Bilbo slams into the staff unexpectedly and lets out a yowl, twisting around as he is pinned to the ground.

"As I was trying to tell you Thorin, the mountain does not belong to you. It belongs to _him_." The man says as Bilbo lets out a particularly loud yowl, sinking his teeth into the staff.


	2. Chapter 2

WARNING: Lactation kink, exhibitionism, references to mercy killings and referenced fighting that was gambled over and violence associated with the fights

I think that's all. If I missed anything please let me know so that I may fix it.

* * *

For a moment the only sound is Bilbo's yowling and of his body twisting around on the ground. The man holding the staff makes no attempts to fight him, only to hold him down and lets him twist around; his brow pinched as Bilbo does so. Time and time again Bilbo sinks his teeth into the staff, flashing his canines at the group that slowly backs away with each one of his yowls and screams. The man above him sighs, glaring at the one who dared to claim his mountain.

"I told you Thorin Oakenshield, this mountain is his." He says and kneels down slowly, extending a hand out towards Bilbo.

"We are not here to harm you or to take your mountain from you. We merely seek shelter from the cold and ask that you put up with us despite the lack of…Manners from my guests. Do you understand?" Bilbo doesn't understand everything the man is saying but he hears Beorn's heavy footsteps coming their way now. He relaxes beneath the staff and stares up at the man. A smile spreads across the man's face and then is paling as Beorn's footsteps begin to echo throughout the hallway and his voice echoes.

"Who dares to enter my halls?" Thorin scowls and goes to step forward only to be stopped by the man who lifts his staff off Bilbo. Another, one with a long white beard holds their arm out in front of Thorin, giving her a thin lipped smile. Bilbo doesn't pay them any attention as he sprints for Beorn who enters into the hallway, his ax slung over one shoulder and his bag full of what smells like mint leaves. He launches himself at the enormous man, wrapping himself around his waist and purring against his throat.

"Have you harmed my mate?" Beorn is slinging him around onto his back, striding towards the white haired man with a venomous gleam in his eyes.

"I've not harmed your mate and I've not stolen anything from your mountain. We only wish to…Have a civil conversation with you and your…Pack, please." Beorn lowers his ax, craning his neck to look at Bilbo.

"Join us in the throne room. Come in only two at a time. If you intimidate our children or women we will not hesitate to put you out. Act as if you will harm them," Beorn trails off as Bilbo leans around his neck, flashing smiles at the group.

"Then we'll rip you apart." Digging his leathery heels into Beorn's sides he waits for the man to turn and begin his way down the hallway towards their room. Behind him the group is silent and then they are talking all at once, shouting and exclaiming, attempting to be heard. Bilbo glances back at them and then turns to bury his face back into the wiry hair of Beorn, inhaling the sharp, musky scent.

"What are they?" He asks as he catches a whiff of the unfamiliar scent in his hair.

"They are dwarves; they are what lived here before we did." Beorn says in a tone that does little to hide his disgust as they step into their room. Their room is nothing particularly fancy. Beorn had accumulated a decent amount of things to put in there over the years: mattresses, sheets and blankets though he still prefers hay. There are tapestries on the wall, put there by Sigrid and a couple of dressers, picked out by Aragorn because he liked them. Not that they used their clothes very often.

The fine silks and armors that the dwarves had once left behind had been tossed aside, shredded, some burned in fires and others lost. The few that remained had been kept for special occasions, locked up in the dressers. Their tunics and trousers were of rougher material, worn, stained and torn. But amongst them it was not uncommon for the males to go without their shirts or the females to go without and their trousers to be shed.

Even now the first thing that Bilbo sees is Bard sitting on a mattress, her shirt abandoned somewhere as she holds Tilda to her breast. He lets out a small snort as he takes in the sight of her half lidded eyes and hair in disarray.

"You do not like dwarves but our Bard is a dwarrowdam and we love her." This is enough to wake up Bard.

"This is the only thing that can put Tilda to sleep and besides I'm only half of a dwarf from my father." Beside her Primula sits up, eyes still closed as she hums.

"I heard something from Aragorn about intruders. Dwarves, are they?" The sight of his two mates side by side, hair rumpled and sleepy eyed with one child at their breast on any other day would be endearing. But now, all he can think of is the dwarves as he kisses first Primula and then Bard, moving to the top of Tilda's head.

"Yes and we need to get ready. We are meeting them in the throne room."

* * *

It takes some time, for their hair to be smoothed and their children to be gathered, for reassuring bites and nuzzles to actually feel reassuring enough. Bard is pushing at Bilbo's neck, sinking her teeth into the skin between his neck and shoulder then soothing it with several swift licks. Bilbo allows her three before he's pulling away and motioning for them to follow.

"Are there really dwarves, ma?" Bain asks, pushing his hair from his eyes as he walks alongside Bard.

"Apparently there are." Bard says quietly, shushing Tilda who makes a small whimper from within her sling. He can hear the dwarves talking, their voices low and hushed. But now as their footsteps get closer their voices trail off and then stop completely as they stride by the group and into the throne room. Bilbo walks straight for the throne with Sigrid, Frodo, and Bain walking directly behind him.

Bilbo sits down and holds his arms out to Bard who hands over Tilda. He adjusts his grip on her until her head is resting in the crook of his arm and waits, watching as the others take their positions next to him. Sigrid stands on his left, Frodo at his foot and Bain at his right. Beorn stands at the front with his ax resting at his foot with Aragorn at his side and Bard and Primula standing behind the throne.

"We're ready." Bilbo calls and the first dwarves begin to march in. The dwarves vary in shape, size and even gender. With each pair that walks in nostrils flare at the different scents, males and females, bonded and unbonded, facial hair and beads. Several of the older ones hold distrust in their eyes, the younger ones a bright curiosity. The final two to enter are the man who first held Bilbo down and the one who attempted to claim the mountain.

"I would like to apologize for earlier. It was wrong of us to enter your mountain uninvited and startle you out of your sleep and make you think your family was in danger. Allow me to properly introduce myself, I'm Gandalf the Grey. And this is Thorin Oakenshield who will allow me and Balin to do the speaking." Gandalf says the last part with a tight lipped smile. Balin clears his throat, stepping forward with his hands held palm up.

"Some of us are old enough to remember the attack of the skin changers. You entered our home, starving, sick and looking for shelter. Determined to take it, I remember."

"Azog the Defiler killed most of our kind. Who the Defiler did not kill he enslaved; not for work but for sport. Caging skin changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him." Beorn begins, gripping his ax tightly.

"When he tired of us then he would sell us off. We were passed around, to elves and men. It was all a game for them to own a skin changer and make us pets. Sometimes they would buy our children as pets for their own children. If we were lucky we would end up together in the same houses or we would find one another again. But a lot of times we lashed out in anger, we changed forms to harm and we were sold before we would find someone we knew." Bilbo adds on, looking over the group of dwarves.

"They did not realize how painful some forms transformations could be," Bilbo adds as at the front of the group Aragorn takes a deep breath as his nails extend and he lets out a choked scream, hunching forward. "They did not understand the meaning of a skin changers form and would harm them." Bard turns, lifting her tunic to show her scarred back.

"The Defiler kept one slave as a wife until she bared a child who was a skin changer. The idea that he had produced a child that was a skin changer horrified him and he sold them over to a dwarven king. She withstood abuse by the king from his gold sickness, torment by the dwarves at her and her child. She and all the other skin changers. It was she who led the revolt against the king and claimed Erebor as hers. My mother, Belladonna Took." Bilbo stands and walks towards Thorin, his grip on Tilda remaining steady as he comes face to face with the dwarf.

Thorin is taller than him, draped in armor and furs. She gives off the scent of an unbonded female, drenched in iron forged determination. Thorin stares at the top of his head, eyes flickering down his bite and bruise covered neck and shoulders, towards his thick waist and hairy feet and then at Tilda who sucks on one of her fists. She's silent for a few heartbeats, her lips a thin line and then she is staring at him again, nodding her head.

"They did not tell us the names of the skin changers but I do recall a hobbit that had a…Rather odd looking child with her." Thorin finally says.

"Some skin changers will have children in litters, depending on their form. She bared several children, I was her last one. My older siblings have taken the throne or passed from starvation, illness, old age or left Erebor of their own accord, unwilling to take the throne. Bolg does not wish to take the throne and wanders the lands. He is the only one of my siblings who returns to visit." There are mutters behind Thorin among the dwarves, all of them exchanging the name Bolg over and over until Thorin turns and gives them a harsh look and effectively shushes them.

"Erebor belongs to me, from my mother and father and the skin changers of my family. This is our mountain, my halls, the throne my children's. You may have all the gems and jewels and gold that you want, we have no need for those. The king's jewel does not need to sit over the throne to establish me as a king. For years we were enslaved and tortured, separated and lost. And then we had a home, we will not give it up." There are mutters from the group once more, threatening to build into shouts but then Balin is stepping forward with his hands up and shushing the dwarves.

"We will offer you shelter though you may find that the rooms are different than you remember. There are rules and laws we ask you follow. But we will feed you; allow you to sleep in the rooms and search the treasury for any of the treasure that you want. But you're not to enter the throne room, to be alone with the children or the women at any times." Bilbo continues, ignoring the continued mumbles from a couple of the dwarves who scowl and glare at him. Balin gives him a relieved smile, inclining his head.

"Thank you for your hospitality. We've had a long journey, a very long journey." Balin trails off and sighs.

"Beorn and Aragorn will show you to your rooms. There are beds, dressers in most of them. Anything else, ask us and we will help you locate it. Most everything is intact. The kitchen, the library. There are some rooms that are off limits to all and we ask none of you ever enter them." And without another word Bilbo steps back and away from Thorin, walking back towards the throne and allowing Beorn and Aragorn to lead the dwarves towards their rooms.

The first thing he does is return back to their room and gathers Sigrid, Bain and Frodo to sit on one of the mattresses, kneeling down in front of him. Beorn and Aragorn are still showing the dwarves to their rooms, Bard and Primula getting food ready in the kitchen. Bilbo stares first at their faces and then at Tilda who lies asleep in his arms. He sighs, falling back onto his butt and pursing his lips.

"You know that our customs are different than others; that we are a pack and we believe in loving more than one. That we can take more than one husband or wife and still love our others." There are nods from all around and he smiles.

"Dwarves ways are different than ours. They do not take one more than one. Sigrid, you are old enough to begin courting, Bain and Frodo you have a few years to go. And while we don't discourage…" He trails off as Aragorn lets out a loud snort, plopping down beside him and lighting his pipe.

"Are you struggling with this talk, truly Bilbo? I did not think that you of all creatures would struggle with this given the nature of your…Activities." The pipe glows red and then he's blowing out a cloud of smoke into Bilbo's waiting mouth. He holds it in for a long moment, enjoying the bitter, spicy taste and then breathing it out through his nose.

"I am not struggling and you know nothing of my activities. My point is that you be careful in befriending these dwarves, be cautious in your actions around them and respectful in the cultural differences." Bilbo finishes.

"Can we talk with them?" Bain asks.

"You may but remember the rules that we gave you." Aragorn says. It's all the prompting that the boys need to stand up and run from the room, leaving only Sigrid who chews on the inside of her cheek. She looks at Aragorn's pipe and then over his shoulder where the boys have run off to.

"What are the rules about transforming in front of them?"

"I showed them my wolf form earlier and their reactions were as expected. Wait for a while Sigrid until things have settled and we're more sure of the dwarves. Then we can show them." There's a small gleam of disappointment in her eyes but she nods, resigned as she stands and follows after the boys.

The rest of the day passes with little sign of the dwarves. Bilbo hears a variety of noises from the treasury, of gold slipping and gems sliding. Dwarves exclaiming excitedly and cheering over their finds; demanding for the others to come and look or to 'hand that back, it's mine'. He sees a couple of them walking back and forth, heading to the kitchen. They're there only for a few moments before they head back to the treasury with some food in their hands. He sees them as he helps the children air out rooms; as he helps Beorn dust; as he helps Bard and Primula in the kitchen. And even in the library at one point. The library is an accident. He is bent over Bard who is spread across one of the tables, his lips wrapped around her nipple and his fingers rubbing at the other one which leaks profusely.

"I don't particularly enjoy it here in the library, especially not when we're doing such things." Bard manages as Bilbo lifts his head, flicking his tongue back and forth against her now pebbled nipple.

"Shall I unlace my trousers or not?" Bilbo asks. His response is a groan from Bard who reaches towards the waistband of her trousers as he reaches for the laces of his. It's the scent that stops them both. Bilbo lifts his head with a snarl, eyes narrowing at the bowl haired dwarf who gapes in the doorway then lets out a squeak and then a squeal of 'sorry'. He briefly hears Primula soothe him, telling him that it's not personal, just Bilbo before he goes into a rutting. And then she's elbowing him out of the way and out of the library, leaping onto the table next to them in one fluid movement. With one hand down her trousers and a smile spread across her face as she watches Bilbo and Bard.

Their rutting session goes uninterrupted after that, the sounds of flesh smacking flesh, moans and grunts echoing off the library walls as Bilbo's thrusts grow sloppy and Bard's skin sweat soaked as she lets out a mantra of 'yes' and 'please, just a little more'. It's Primula who helps them both finish though as she reaches her third completion, letting out a squeal as her legs turn to jelly on the table. Bilbo gives a final, sharp thrust, lifting Bard's hips and grinning as she begins to spasm around him, her mouth working soundlessly as her hips shake. The air reeks heavily of sweat and musk, the air quieting as their pants die down.

"That was the longest rutting we've had since I can remember. Everyone's probably asleep." Bard murmurs, carding her fingers through Bilbo's sweat soaked curls.

"I imagine that Beorn would not mind a rutting." Bilbo presses a kiss to one of her bite marked breasts and slowly slides out of her. Bard looks flushed at the idea, her head lolling back and forth as Bilbo slips her trousers back on. Primula stands up on the table, leaping off and pressing kisses across the bite marks and bruises that Bilbo's left on her breasts before he grins at Bard.

"I would certainly not mind a good rutting." And with that she tugs Bard up from the table, still pressing kisses to the taller woman's sweat soaked skin as they walk out of the library together. Bilbo lingers after they've gone, relishing in the scent of their pungent scent of their rutting before he tugs on his trousers and walks out of the library. There is dried come, breast milk and bruises on his body all of which he wears like battle scars as he walks towards the throne room where he sees the silhouette of a shadow in the light of the lanterns.

Thorin stands just outside of the throne room, her face betraying no emotion as Bilbo comes to join her side. She doesn't look at him but at the doors, flicking from the tops and down, over their intricate carvings and burn marks, the scratches and the claw marks that are permanently etched into the stone.

"Your grandfather is the monster of our tales, what we tell our children at night so they may know how hard we have fought. When my mother lived here he used to host fights between skin changers and would take bets from other dwarves. He encouraged betting in fact. He would make them transform by encouraging the betters to throw things, spit at them. The highest better would get to keep the winner and have the symbol of their line branded on them."

"And if a skin changer was weak, if they were young, too sick or too old to fight? What happened to them?" Thorin asks and in the light Bilbo can see her paling.

"Then everyone just bet more coins on the healthier, younger, stronger one. Sometimes there were skin changers killed, sometimes deformed and other times injured. If you died then your family would be called in, if you had any family that is. After the fights were over they'd come in and grab your body and take it out. And by that time, it was impossible to tell how many fights had gone on, how many bodies had been in there with you and sometimes if it was even your body. If you were injured you may lie in your blood, in your waste, in the blood and waste of others and the items thrown for hours on end. You'd listen to the fight and sometimes have dead bodies land on yours or…There were mercy killings in the fight pit. If you were lucky. Mercy killings happened."

"Did your mother ever go into the fight pit?" Thorin sounds hoarse and scared.

"Yes she did. Your grandfather believed that skin changers were savage creatures and that's why we could change forms. She went in not to prove to him how savage she could become but how savage his behavior had become under the influence of the gold. She told me horror stories of ripping out others' throats, of breaking spines and sometimes just slitting their throats because…Mercy killings. She didn't want them to be there anymore."

"She never proved her savagery though until the day that she seized Erebor from your grandfather. My mother allowed him to live. A king with a mind clouded by gold, fueled by a love for fighting pits and blood and does not care about the wellbeing of his people cannot be a king. But a savage woman, more fit to kill can have mercy on the very man who made her kill can be a queen. Goodnight Thorin Oakenshield." And with that Bilbo turns away and walks towards his bedroom, hands folded behind his back and thoughts of blood in his mind.

* * *

I feel like the skin changers have some things that are just culturally accepted like the lack of clothes, breast feeding their children openly, rutting sessions in the open and exhibitionism...Ect, ect.

Yeah, that got way more fucking dark than I meant for it to. And a lot smuttier, a lot faster than I meant for it to. The other dwarves will get a go at/talk to Bilbo eventually. Right now I just want to hack out the whole cultural differences, bad history thing.


End file.
